


Here We Are as in Olden Days

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Eggnog, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: After a Christmas party in Anathema's cottage, a drunk Aziraphale and a melancholy Crowley reflect over how their relationships with humans have changed over time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560190
Comments: 18
Kudos: 85





	Here We Are as in Olden Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written to include the prompt 'eggnog'.

“How on Earth did you manage to drink enough of book girl’s God-awful eggnog to actually get drunk, angel?” Crowley snorts as he helps his swaying, steadily sinking husband to his car. “It was more egg than nog as is.”

“I know. Disgusting! Positively _vile_ ,” Aziraphale slurs, giggling as he aims for the passenger door, hitting his head twice since he can’t tell which of the three floating Bentleys in front of him is the one he’s supposed to be getting into. “That’s why I brought this along.” He pulls a silver flask from the inside pocket of his coat and flashes it Crowley’s way.

“What’s in there?” Crowley asks, eager to grab it and take a swig, find out for himself, but as he’s the only thing keeping Aziraphale from falling flat on his face in the snow, he’ll have to wait till his husband is secured.

“Bourbon,” Aziraphale says, plopping onto the seat and hugging the flask contentedly.

“And you didn’t share!?”

“I couldn’t (hic!) I couldn’t (hic) I couldn’t risk it! You can be an unpredictable drunk, you know.”

“Miracle up one bloody manticore at a New Year’s Eve party and you never live it down,” Crowley grumbles, shoving the tail ends of Aziraphale’s coat inside and shutting the door.

“Poor Earl Lexington’s summer home will never be the same,” Aziraphale murmurs, putting his flask back in his pocket, saving the rest for later.

Crowley saunters over to the driver’s side, snapping the engine on before he gets to his door. “I have to admit,” he says, climbing inside, “having human friends again … it’s different, i’nt it?”

“We’ve had human friends before.”

“Yeah, but … it goes in waves. Truth be told, there’ve only been a handful of friends I’ve made that weren’t job related, and less I’d consider close. But the kind you find on your own? That stick with you regardless …?” Crowley sighs, settling one hand on the steering wheel, the other conflicted as to whether to put the car into gear or stay where they are, reflecting over life in the cold and dark. His Bentley has always been the best place for that. Whether driving down the highway or parked in front of Aziraphale’s shop, there’s something about sitting in his car, looking out into the night that makes a philosopher out of him.

“Regardless of whether they need something from you?” Aziraphale finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees quietly. “It’s strange. These humans – they’ve seen us in action. They know what we can do. We’ve tried to kill a few of them and still …” He glances out the window at Anathema’s cottage, warm and welcoming, lights shining bright in the windows, music and laughter ringing loudly to be heard even from a distance “… here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are.” Aziraphale reaches out, sobered by his husband’s words, his melancholy mood, and puts a hand over his. Crowley brings it immediately to his lips and kisses it. “Would you like to go back inside, my dear? I think I heard Newt say something about making a night of it.”

“Nah.” Crowley kisses his husband’s hand once more before setting it back on his angel’s lap and putting the car into gear. “Best not to overstay our welcome. Besides, you invited everyone over to our place tomorrow night for dinner so it’s not like we won’t be seeing them again.”

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. “I did?”

“A-ha. Right before you started the _Good King Wenceslas_ sing along.”

Aziraphale blanches a moment, struggling to recall. Then he mutters, “Right, right …”

“Let’s head home, angel. Maybe when we get to the flat, you can take out your flask and spike my nog, hmm?”

Aziraphale turns in his seat, blurry-eyed stare crinkling his forehead. “Is that … _code_ for something?”

“To be honest, I have no idea,” Crowley says, pulling away from the picket fence. “But maybe we can come up with something, hmm? Something that’ll put us on the naughty list.”

“Perhaps … _if_ you drive the speed limit. And you don’t run over anything on the way home.”

“You cut me to the quick, angel.” Crowley grins. “But for you – anything.”


End file.
